


The Wager

by In_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bets & Wagers, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Head Boys & Head Girls, Light Angst, Muggle Life, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27039469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dreams/pseuds/In_Dreams
Summary: Hermione scarcely considered a wager made with her dorm mate and fellow head student, Draco Malfoy, late one night. But they both might learn a thing or two.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 32
Kudos: 697





	The Wager

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyonomiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyonomiko/gifts).



> Author's Note: A very happy birthday to my wonderful friend and alpha, Kyonomiko. I hope you have a brilliant day, and enjoy this little story!
> 
> A million thanks to Curly_Kay, who worked with me down to the wire to finish this piece in time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Harry Potter franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

  


* * *

"That's preposterous."

Hermione rolled her eyes, thinning her lips to withhold an impulsive response. At last she sighed. "What's preposterous is your _assumption_ that there isn't any value in Muggle technology."

"I'm not denying _value_ ," Malfoy retorted, jabbing a finger in the air, "all I said was that there isn't anything Muggles have done that magic can't do better. The only reason Muggles spend so much time inventing things is because they don't have magic."

Flabbergasted, she merely gaped at him, feeling her pulse escalate with her rising temper.

"You are _just_ as bigoted as you've ever―"

She dropped off at the flicker of something that crossed his face.

Malfoy's voice dropped. "You _know_ that isn't true."

Objectively, Hermione did know. She wouldn't have survived the majority of their eighth year working alongside him as Head Boy and Head Girl if he hadn't shown remorse for his actions prior to and during the war. Furthermore, he had apologised early in the year and made strides towards working with her. They weren't friends, but they'd become begrudging colleagues of a sort.

He still drove her up the wall some days.

"All I'm saying," Hermione went on, sucking in a deep breath, "is that you don't even know the extent of what Muggles have done. The complex fields of science, medicine, _space_ travel―did you know Muggles have flown to the moon?"

Malfoy's gaze tightened. "To what end?"

"The study and exploration of the universe," she explained, sinking back into the sofa in their private common room. "The planet we live on is merely a speck in the existence of everything else that's out there, according to the scientific theories."

"I mean," Malfoy went on, waving a flippant hand, "if wizards really wanted to I'm certain they could go to the moon as well. Bubble-head charms and long-distance Portkeys, modified to―"

Hermione huffed a ragged breath. "Forget it. You're like talking to a brick wall."

"Am not," he retorted. "Fine, then. Show me one thing that Muggles have done that's better than us."

"Electricity." She waved towards the flickering lanterns casting dim light across the common room. When Malfoy only stared blankly at her, she sighed again, rummaging through her satchel. She brandished a ball-point pen and dragged a stroke along a sheet of parchment on the coffee table.

Grey eyes flickered to hers as he rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. "Self-inking quills do that too. And besides, quills can be charmed to write down anything on their own."

"Don't tell me you're _that_ lazy that you can't take your own notes," she snipped.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I'm not―we're talking theoretically."

She didn't answer, folding her arms across her front.

"Look, Granger," he went on at last, cocking a brow, "I'm sure Muggles have done the best with what they have. Obviously they've lived alongside us for all these years and survived."

Her jaw dropped open. "You don't even know the first thing about Muggles. I knew I should have pushed harder when the Board of Directors contemplated making Muggle Studies mandatory this year."

"Come on," Malfoy muttered, "no one needed another course added on for the NEWTs."

"You wouldn't be able to live one week as a Muggle," Hermione exclaimed. "Proving your utter dependency on magic for every little task.

"Wrong," he drawled. "Just because I don't insist on doing things the Muggle way when I don't have to, it doesn't mean I'm incompetent. It means I favour efficiency. But if you're so certain, what do you say to a little wager?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment, a teasing smirk spreading across his face as she weighed her options. Despite the fact that they'd grown to tolerate one another's presence, she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him.

"No magic at all outside of your coursework," she stated. "And that includes your reliance on house-elves for everything."

Malfoy scowled at the caveat. "Fine."

"If I win," she breathed, "you have to do as I ask for three days―with the obvious understanding that I won't have you cause harm to yourself or others."

"I'm not being your bloody slave―" He snapped his mouth shut once more with a click of his teeth. His stare tightened, and Hermione could nearly see the wheels churning in his head.

When his smirk turned wicked, regret curdled in the pit of her stomach.

"One night together," he breathed, dropping his chin to meet her stare. "Nothing too weird―unless you're into that sort of thing."

A response choked in her throat.

More than once, Malfoy had made evident his desire for her, but he'd never pressed the topic, and she'd carried on ignoring the matter. Because she wasn't willing to address her own burgeoning attraction to him.

"Absolutely not," she whispered, feeling words return to her with the glint in his eye. Clearing her throat, she spoke again, louder this time. "That's ridiculous."

"Come on," he drawled, tongue darting out. "You want to leave Hogwarts wondering?"

She knew exactly to what he referred―the strange tension that had only grown between them as the year crept on. Hermione had denied it to herself for months, until it had become obvious as to the specific nature of the tension.

"I'm not having sex with you," she deadpanned all the same, grateful for the steadiness to her voice.

Malfoy leaned back. "Shame." He pursed his lips and added, "Fine. If I win you'll finish out my curfew patrols for the rest of the year."

Hermione didn't care for that idea either, when she already had her own patrols _and_ NEWT preparations to deal with. But it was comfortable ground, whereas spending a night with him was sure to open a can of worms she wouldn't know how to close again.

"Fine," she announced. Conjuring a small clock, she set it on the coffee table to count down the next seven days.

"We have a wager, then." With a silky smooth grin, he brandished a hand. Reaching across the seat between them on the sofa, Hermione shook his hand, wondering whether she was making a huge mistake.

* * *

Hermione glanced up from her potions textbook, humour tugging at her lips at the sounds of muffled cursing in the common room. Fixing her eyes on the clock on the opposite wall, she waited.

" _Granger!_ "

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, before calling out, "What is it?"

In a tone of voice that suggested he was attempting to cling to his patience, he said, "Will you come here for a moment?"

Setting her quill on the table, Hermione rose from her seat and ventured up the short staircase to their private dorm rooms. Arriving outside of Malfoy's dorm, she peered into the room, finding his narrowed grey eyes on her.

He waved a hand at his four poster bed, with a drawled, "What is this?"

As she edged into the room, she bit down on her knuckle to withhold a laugh, aware of Malfoy's steely glare following her.

"These are your fresh linens," she said, brandishing a rumpled fitted sheet heaped on the bare mattress. "I took the liberty of alerting the house-elves assigned to our common room that we wouldn't need their assistance for the next week."

Malfoy's jaw clenched. Sickly sweet, he said, "How thoughtful of you." He strode towards her and lifted the balled up wad of emerald green fabric, tugging at the banded edges. "How am I meant to _force_ this bloody thing on here."

Hermione offered a facetious shrug. "I guess you'll have to figure it out. After all, you did tell me you weren't incompetent or overly dependent on magic." She flashed him a grin. "Unless you're ready to concede our wager already."

His eyes flashed, searing into her own, and Hermione felt her nerves flare at the fact that she stood at the edge of his bed, alone with him in his bedroom. Thoughts―and fantasies―swept unbidden through her mind and she swallowed the heavy lump in her throat.

"I'd be more willing to participate in this pointless experiment if you had agreed to my first request," he drawled quietly, a smirk tweaking his lips. Warmth flooded through her. Malfoy cleared his throat. "But no. I won't give you the pleasure of winning so easily."

She wondered whether his words were calculated.

But everything about him was calculated.

So she simply flashed him a smile. "You're smart―I imagine you'll figure it out. And you've only got to survive six more days."

Malfoy's glare followed her as she strode from the room.

* * *

When Hermione returned from the library the following day after class, she found Malfoy seated at the work table in their common room, gnawing on a raw carrot as he gazed at a roll of parchment with a furrow in his brow.

Edging closer, she peered at his work before settling into her seat.

A plate of dinner was on the table before him, and Hermione stifled a laugh at its contents. Despite that they had a full kitchenette in their common room, sufficiently stocked with ingredients, Malfoy picked at an array of finger foods including a selection of raw vegetables, buttered bread, and several chunks of cheese.

"Looks delicious," she quipped.

Malfoy fired her a scowl.

"You do know you can still eat in the Great Hall," she offered, "as it doesn't require the use of your magic."

Crunching a bite of his carrot, Malfoy rolled his eyes. His lip curled with a hint of a sneer.

Throughout the entirety of their eighth year, Hermione could probably count on her hands the number of times she had actually seen Malfoy eat in the Great Hall. In fact, he rarely mingled with his housemates at all, and Hermione wondered if it was a falling out surrounding his role in the war.

But she had never seen fit to ask, and obviously he'd never brought it up.

Finally he said, "I prefer the peace," and popped a cube of cheese between his lips. After he'd swallowed, he added, "And I would appreciate it if you'd stop taunting me."

A teasing smile tugged at her lips and she couldn't resist a quiet, "You _could_ just learn to use the stove."

Malfoy clenched his jaw, staring hard at his essay again.

For a brief instant, she felt for him. Despite the relative simplicity of the things with which he had struggled, Hermione knew there had been very little cause for him to learn such things in his life. Not only as a Pureblood, but as one of the wizarding elite, accustomed to house-elves doing everything for him.

She could still remember how out of sorts she had felt upon first entering the wizarding world. And as a result she had forced herself to learn everything on her own, so no one could ever judge her less than capable.

Hermione lowered her voice and said, "Do you want me to show you a few things so you can cook yourself a proper meal tomorrow?"

His gaze remained locked on the page but his eyes stopped moving. In the tight line of his jaw Hermione could read his hesitation warring with pride. He was so sure of himself for the most part it was oddly disarming to watch.

"It's quite similar to brewing potions, to be honest," she pressed on, her voice softer than she'd intended.

At last Malfoy's grey eyes flitted up to meet hers and he clicked his tongue. "Fine. I suppose it couldn't hurt."

With a tentative smile, Hermione said, "Come on, then," and ignored the twist to her stomach when his lips curled upwards in return.

* * *

On the third day of their wager, Hermione nearly stumbled into Malfoy on her way to the common room. His face was flushed, and he wore a quidditch kit as he paced the corridor―directly into her as she rounded the corner.

A squeak of surprise slipped from her lips as she collided with his larger figure, but his hands flew up to grab her arms before she could fall. His eyes darted open.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his brows knitting.

"Just walking," Hermione said, a little breathily. "I had to withdraw some books from the library." Feeling a sting of embarrassment, she added, "Sorry―I was lost in my thoughts and didn't hear you coming."

Malfoy barely contained a snort, his fingers still curled around her forearms. "I can't say that surprises me."

"Were you flying?" she asked, unable to manage her curiosity. Malfoy hadn't even tried out for the Slytherin Quidditch team, to her knowledge, but perhaps it would have been too much on top of Head Boy duties.

He released her at last, sweeping a hand through his disheveled hair. "I was." The humour vanished from his face and he quirked a brow. "It helps to manage the stress of everything―and it's something I can actually _do_ without my magic."

Hermione snickered at the jab and quipped, "You only have to survive four more days."

His eyes tightened; they stood close enough that she could see the flecks of silver in his grey irises. "This wager was a bloody stupid idea."

"It was your suggestion," she breathed, thinning her lips to hold back a laugh.

At last his lips curled with a wry smirk, igniting a coil of desire below her stomach. Merlin, she could admit he was attractive now that he had stopped spewing cruel rhetoric at her.

"I know. And I'm still going to win."

"Technically," Hermione said quietly, peering up at him as they carried on down the empty corridor, "does it really count if I helped you figure certain things out?"

Malfoy's jaw dropped and he shook his head. "Nice try, Granger―you did that of your own volition. Therefore it has no bearing on the legitimacy of my victory."

"I'm only saying," she went on, a laugh breaking free as she stepped onto the staircase that led towards their common room, "that it lends a _slight_ question to the validity of it."

"Does not," he retorted, but a slow grin spread across his face all the same.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak once more, warmth creeping through her at the easy camaraderie, when the staircase jolted into motion, their end of it swinging away from the wall. Distracted by their conversation, she lost her footing and stumbled mid-step.

Reflexively, Malfoy slammed a hand down on the rail below her, stopping her from falling into the sudden gaping cavern that dropped three storeys down.

And effectively trapping her between him and the railing.

"Thanks," she choked, wide eyes meeting his.

His chest heaved a little as he blew out a breath but he frowned at her and said, "Are you always this clumsy or is today just special?"

Hermione had no intention of telling him that _he_ was the one who left her a little disarmed and off balance. That the more she spoke with him, and the better they came to know one another, the quieter her own inner voices became about why it was a terrible idea.

Her stare landed briefly on his mouth before darting back to his eyes.

He still had her pinned to the rail as the staircase landed in its destination, and belatedly, Hermione realised she hadn't responded. Her mouth felt dry.

"Just special," she whispered at last. Then clearing her throat, she added, "Thanks. Again."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and drawled, "Right. I don't want to take on your duties if you get yourself killed."

But he still hadn't stepped away and she was encompassed by his intoxicating scent. Hermione curled her fingers around the banister at either side of herself to keep from doing something she would regret.

He opened his mouth to say something―her eyes darted to his lips again―but he released a sigh and pushed back from the rail, carrying up the rest of the stairwell.

Mind reeling, Hermione chased after him. They would need to take the longer route back around to their common room, and she felt her heart racing in her chest at the abrupt shift between them.

"What?" she asked, the word coming out a little sharper than she'd intended.

"Nothing," Malfoy said, as flippant as ever. As if it justified the lack of response, he added, "I'm just hungry."

His words spurred frustration within her. The moment between them had been so charged that she didn't want to let him walk away, but the hard line of his jaw and tightness in his eyes left little room for argument.

"Fine," she breathed, dropping back from his longer stride as she wrapped her arms across her front.

And though she had expected Malfoy to carry on without her, he merely slowed to match her pace but remained quiet.

He was impossible to read―but the silence was oddly companionable.

* * *

When eighth year began, Hermione had been mystified to learn that Draco Malfoy, of all people, had been offered the position of Head Boy. It had been contested enough that the positions were given to returning eighth year students rather than seventh years.

Never mind the fact that the male counterpart to her own position was a branded former Death Eater. Many of the students―and some of the professors, as far as she could tell―thought he deserved a cell in Azkaban with the rest of them.

But the only condition of Malfoy's verdict had been a return to Hogwarts.

Hermione was a proponent of second chances, although in her estimation Malfoy had already used up several of those.

So to learn that she would be forced to share a dorm with the Slytherin had been unsettling, and Hermione had spent the majority of her time early on in the Gryffindor common room.

And it seemed Malfoy was keen to avoid the rest of his housemates, so he had essentially laid his claim to the head students' dormitory.

The idea of it hadn't sat well with Hermione, but she had already claimed her circumstances, and so she rarely returned to the dorm outside of sleeping hours.

But at some point―she wasn't even certain exactly―the old animosity between them began to fizzle out. They worked together on a multitude of projects as Head students, coordinated the Prefects, and arranged the patrol schedules.

One day in Ancient Runes partway through the year, Malfoy had forgotten his translation text, and none of the other students―even from his own house―offered to share. Having borrowed a more archaic translation text from Professor Babbling as an extra credit challenge, she had offered Malfoy her own from the curriculum to use. The gratitude in his stare when she slipped him the book had been surprising.

Little by little, Hermione had come to acknowledge that Malfoy was, almost unbelievably, trying.

She knew that he recognised the true gravity of the chance he'd been given, not only in avoiding Azkaban, but being able to complete his education.

And so by the time they had started to speak to one another as equals, Hermione had little bandwidth remaining for anger or spite. She had accepted his presence in her life.

Over time, their stiff and mandatory conversations had led down the path towards something else.

She came to consider him an acquaintance. And at some point Hermione stumbled across the hard truth that she didn't mind his company.

Now, with only two months remaining in the year, they both spent the majority of their free time in the Heads' dormitory. With her proclivity to visit the library after classes most days, more often than not Malfoy had already returned to the dorm when she arrived back for dinner.

And on the fourth day of their perhaps ill-considered wager, Hermione found him in the kitchen, arms folded across his chest as he peered at the stove with narrowed eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she approached, quietly so as not to alarm him.

His eyes flitted to his watch. "I'm waiting."

Hermione sidled up alongside him, close enough that her arm nearly grazed his, but he didn't shift away. "Are you cooking something?"

"Chicken." He stared with such intense scrutiny that she expected something to happen at any moment. He strode forward, opening the door of the oven and squinting through the steam that came out. Hermione could see three unseasoned chicken breasts neatly laid out on a pan inside. "I'm trying not to burn it."

"How long has it been in?"

With a grimace, he looked at his watch again. "Eight minutes, thirty-seven seconds."

"Oh Merlin," Hermione huffed, pressing her lips together to hold back a laugh. "You aren't going to burn it―and you're allowed to walk away while it cooks."

His eyes darted to hers, as if trying to determine whether she was having him on, but then he walked towards the table and sank into his chair. "I made a salad as well," he offered with a glance towards the icebox.

"Wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed as she took her own seat, a flicker of something like pride chasing through her. "The intent was never to make you learn how to cook, but it is an invaluable life skill to know. You might not always have house-elves able to cook for you."

He fired her a look. "Are you hungry?"

"I'll wait until you're through," she said with a dismissive wave. "I had a snack after class."

Malfoy frowned at the table for a moment, tracing a line in the wood with his fingertip. "I made extra for you, if you want. Though I wouldn't blame you if you don't."

Her heart stuttered momentarily in her chest at the genuine offer, and her shoulders sank as she stared at him. "I appreciate you thinking of me, Malfoy. I'd love some."

"Great." His lips dragged into a wry grin and he added, "You're going to have to make sure the chicken is cooked through so I don't kill us both."

Her lips twitching, Hermione met his stare. "Deal."

* * *

The meal Malfoy made was palatable. The chicken was bland and dry but edible, and Hermione beamed at him all the same as she took a large swig of water to wash it down. His salad, while simple, was nicely composed.

After dinner they snacked on grapes and gossiped about the Prefects, and Hermione found herself enjoying her time with him more than she ever had. Maybe it was a byproduct of the fact that they had been forced to open up to one another a little more through this bizarre experiment.

Seeing some of Malfoy's vulnerabilities bleed through had impacted her in a way she hadn't expected.

He wasn't simply snarky and unfeeling; his hesitations had brought to light the fact that he wasn't always as certain as he projected either.

Hermione wondered at what it had cost him to lower his walls around her.

She certainly couldn't deny the way she felt every time he offered a sarcastic quip or a crooked grin. And if she was entirely honest, sitting with him and simply chatting, she wondered for the first time about his motivations behind his initial request, when they had set the terms of the wager.

If only to herself, she could admit her interest in him.

And just maybe… she could recognise the appeal to spending the night with him, now that she had come to know another side of him. But more so, she wanted to get to know him as a person.

Not as a student or a colleague or as the image he wanted the world to see and believe. Because she knew well enough now to realise it wasn't who he truly was.

Drawn from her thoughts, Hermione found his eyes on her, a frown on his lips and a knit between his brows.

"What?" she asked, the word coming out as barely more than a whisper.

Malfoy glanced away. "Nothing. Forget it."

Irritation flared within her, dissipating her more charitable thoughts of moments prior. "You can't just tell me to forget it. What did I do now?"

"You didn't do anything, Granger," he huffed. Stacking their empty plates, he rose from his seat and left them by the sink, wrenching a hand through his hair as he made to retreat up the stairs.

Hermione jumped up, eyes narrowing as she stormed after him.

 _Every_ blasted time she had a warm thought about him…

"Malfoy!" she called as she followed him towards their rooms. He spun on the landing, rolling his eyes, and Hermione nearly collided with him as she came to an abrupt halt. He towered over her by several inches as he gazed down at her, his jaw clenched in a hard line but he remained silent.

"You don't get to just―" she jabbed a finger into his chest "―storm off mid-conversation without telling me what I did wrong!"

He stared at her for a long moment, his face inscrutable, before he released a sigh. "Did you know that you've been one of a very select few willing to even speak to me this year, Granger?"

Startled, Hermione blinked at him, letting her hand drop to her side. "What do you mean? I've seen plenty of people talk to you. The professors, the Prefects―"

"I said _willing_ ," he intoned. "They _have_ to."

They stared at one another in tense silence while she processed his statement, the words jumbled in her brain.

"I don't know what you're getting at," she admitted quietly at last. "Should I not have given you a second chance?"

"Probably not." He snorted, humour tugging at his lips. "The point is, Granger, that we're leaving school in two months and we'll probably never see one another again."

For some reason she couldn't quite fathom, the words left her feeling bereft.

"And…" He pressed his eyes briefly shut. "I need you to stop looking at me like you want something from me when you and I both know I can't give you anything."

Her heart plummeted into her stomach, churning with her instant discomfort.

When his eyes shuttered open again, they contained a raw vulnerability she hadn't expected. A half-hearted denial died on her tongue at the look on his face, and when she parted her lips to speak, nothing came forth.

But when she considered telling him the truth about how she felt, she didn't have any words for that either.

At last something flickered across his face―disappointment maybe―and he glanced away, turning once more towards his room.

Fear darted through her and she blurted, "You keep saying things to me." He froze, back towards her, and Hermione pressed on. "And I thought maybe _you_ ―"

"I know," he said quietly, swivelling back to face her. "But you've not taken me seriously before. And I never expected you to start."

Her heart clenched tightly in her chest and her voice came out small. "Does that mean you don't want me?"

Malfoy huffed a long breath, carding a hand through his hair. He stared hard at the wall.

"It means," he said quietly, barely above a breath, " _you_ shouldn't want _me_."

He turned once more and walked into his dorm. Hermione could scarcely hear the door click shut over the sickening crack of her heart.

* * *

Hermione slogged through her day, only halfway focused as shame and rejection swelled within her, manifesting as nausea. As far as she was concerned, Malfoy had sufficiently closed any possible doors that may have been open between them the night before.

She cursed herself for thinking there might have actually been something there. She knew better―had known better from the start―than to let herself feel anything for him.

Hermione deliberately avoided him all day, which wasn't an easy feat given eighth years sat all of their classes together. And aside from her, Malfoy was the only other student in their year with a full course load.

For the first time, she didn't care about the outcome of their wager. If Malfoy wanted to use his magic, she had no intention of asking anything of him.

He had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear.

Teasing her had only been enjoyable until she showed signs of reciprocity. She ought to have known, and it only made the situation sting worse.

A few times she had felt his stare on her, but she kept her gaze studiously ahead, and each time he looked away before long.

After her last class ended, she ventured to the library. She only left for a quick meal in the Great Hall, knowing Malfoy would be in their dorm, before returning to the stacks that had been her solace so many times before.

And for the first time in months, she purposefully stayed out until nearly curfew so she wouldn't have to see Malfoy.

By the time she arrived back, weary both in body and spirit, he was already in his room.

She collapsed in bed, ready for the day to be over.

Her only reassurance flickered through her mind in his voice as she drifted off to sleep. In two months they would part ways, and she would never have to see him again.

* * *

She wasn't so lucky the next day.

She had to attend a Prefects' meeting after dinner―with Malfoy. After managing to avoid him all through the day, she would have no choice but to entertain his presence at her side for an entire hour. And while they usually attempted to put up a united front, she didn't know that she had it in her.

The blond slunk into the room right before the meeting was due to begin, after the Prefects had already arrived, and collapsed into his usual seat beside her, his arms folded across his chest.

Hermione clenched her jaw, fixed her gaze on the rest of the room, and plastered a smile onto her lips.

Then she began the meeting. Malfoy contributed very little, and as if the Prefects could see the storm cloud brewing above him as well as she could, none of them asked any of the inane questions that typically characterised such a meeting.

In fact, the meeting was over in record time and most of the Prefects were gone before Hermione had even gathered her things.

Malfoy remained in his seat, narrowed eyes hard on her as she shoved her papers into her bag, keen to get away from him. At last he broke the silence and drawled, "I made a couple changes to the patrols schedule."

"Fine," Hermione said, the word coming out more breathy than she'd intended. Slinging the strap of her bag over one shoulder, she made towards the door as Malfoy finally rose from his seat.

With his longer stride, he beat her to the exit, leaning casually against the door as he slid his hands into his pockets.

"Excuse me," Hermione said quietly, unable to meet his penetrating stare.

But he only released a long sigh, his gaze darting to the ceiling. "Granger, I know you're upset with me."

"I'm not upset," she clipped, folding her arms. "I'd simply like to leave."

He pursed his lips. "I thought we were past this."

"I thought so, too," she returned, some of her ire faltering, before she straightened her shoulders. "Obviously I was wrong."

Dragging a hand through his pale hair, Malfoy released another long, exaggerated sigh. "You can't avoid me forever."

Irritation flared within her and she narrowed her eyes. "I'm not avoiding you―I'm giving you what you asked for. You made it very clear how you feel about the situation the other night."

Rolling his eyes towards the ceiling again, he huffed a quiet, "Fine, then," and shifted along the wall so she could open the door. "I _would_ appreciate it if you'd hear me out."

A fresh wave of shame swelled within her, renewing the way she had felt at his rejection two nights prior. She couldn't bring herself to risk meeting his stare so she only scowled at the wall.

"I'm calling off our wager," she said, leaning her weight on one hip. "You can use magic―I don't care anymore."

"Granger," he ground out, his expression faltering when she changed a glance at him. But he only pressed his eyes shut for a moment and said, "There's only one day left. I'm not backing out now."

"Then you'll be the only one of us participating," she sniffed, reaching for the door handle.

Malfoy caught her arm, his fingers surprisingly gentle and warm as they curled around her wrist. At last, she lifted her gaze to his, a breath catching in her throat.

"Please listen to me," he said quietly. He pursed his lips and added, "You're the only bloody friend I've got around here."

The quiet vulnerability in his voice broke through her makeshift shield at last with the admission, and her shoulders sank as she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth. "Fine, Malfoy. We can talk."

He looked weary, and she only noticed it when she took him in fully, the strain to his face and deep shadows below his eyes. He swung the door open, gesturing to the opening, and followed her through as she slipped from the office at last.

But he only walked beside her in silence, shoving his hands into his pockets again. They made the awkward trek back to their common room before he finally spoke, leaning against the backside of the portrait as it closed behind him.

"I fucked up, okay?" he drawled, looking put out. "I shouldn't have said what I did the other night―I wasn't trying to upset you."

Hermione swallowed her hurt over his words and waited, setting her bag on the table.

But he released an aggravated huff and pushed away from the wall, wrenching a hand through his hair again. "You just―you were looking at me like―" He sank into the sofa and sighed, "Never mind."

"Right," Hermione bit out, fresh waves of embarrassment washing through her at the blatant reiteration of his disinterest. She blinked back warm tears that threatened at the corners of her eyes. "I guess it doesn't matter."

She made to retreat when he spoke again.

"That isn't what I meant," he deadpanned, fixing her with a hard stare until she took up her seat at the other end of the sofa. "I'm not good at this, Granger."

Folding her arms across her chest, she muttered, "You made it clear there is no _this_."

Eyes narrowed, he peered at her. "Because I can't see how you could _possibly_ even consider such a thing."

"What do you mean?"

The words slipped from her lips as a broken whisper.

He grimaced. "You deserve better."

Hermione glanced away, chewing her bottom lip as his words settled into the pit of her stomach like a stone. She wanted to run to her room and protect her wounded pride, but she had expended so much energy on avoiding him for the past two days. And even though he had essentially closed any door that may have been open between them, she was tired of hiding.

He was still a friend, of sorts. Even if she hadn't even noticed the truth of it creep up on her.

"I would like to finish out the wager," he said evenly, staring into the fireplace before them.

Hermione snickered, picking at the fabric of the sofa. "Because you think you're going to win, no doubt."

"Because we agreed to the terms," he responded, "and there are less than twenty-four hours left. Maybe I want to prove I can go a week without magic." But then his eyes slid sidelong to meet hers. "And yes―I do think I'm going to win."

Releasing a sigh, she nodded. "Fine. We both agreed to the terms, so if you win I'll simply have to make do."

Had it really only been six days ago that she had thought running all of his patrols through the remainder of the year would be preferable to a night in his bed? Despite everything, and the admissions he had just made, she wanted to kick herself.

But if he wasn't interested in anything more, it was still for the best.

Malfoy stifled a wide yawn behind the back of his hand. "Then we will reconvene tomorrow night." He rose from his seat, casting her one last glance as he said, "Good night, Granger."

She forced a thick swallow at the secretive curl on his lips as she whispered, "Night, Malfoy."

Unease lingered in her chest as she watched him go.

* * *

After two days of avoiding Malfoy at every turn, Hermione found herself watching him in classes the next day. In all her years of knowing him, she had grown accustomed to seeing him use his magic for everything, no matter how minor or unnecessary.

They were paired together in Potions, and she found herself observing as he diced a root with precise movements, the concentration on his face as he carefully measured the manual turns of his stirring rod.

"What do you figure?" she asked him quietly as they portioned their antidote into vials at the end of class. "Think you could live without magic for an extended period of time?"

He scrunched his nose up with distaste, but his eyes were warm with humour. "I _could_. But I still wouldn't want to."

Hermione released a laugh. "I'll take it."

Smirking, he stared at her for a moment. "I'll give it to you―Muggles are more proficient than I ever gave them credit for. It's difficult to do everything by hand."

"And yet, they somehow manage to lead productive lives," she said with a mocking titter.

He nudged her shoulder with his own. "And yet."

She flashed him a grin. It was worth losing their wager to hear Malfoy admit a newfound respect of sorts for Muggle life. "I'll make us dinner tonight in the common room to celebrate your new paradigm shift."

"I'll do it," he said, his face faltering. "I sort of enjoy it."

Hermione gaped at him and he chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm surprised to hear that."

Malfoy's lips twitched. "You don't need to make a big deal over it."

"Oh I certainly do." But then her smile softened and she caught his eye. "I'm proud of you, Malfoy."

He only rolled his eyes, his shoulder brushing hers again, and she couldn't tell whether it was an accident.

* * *

By the time Hermione arrived in their common room after class―she had stayed late to inquire with Professor Vector about an upcoming assignment―Malfoy had already begun preparing dinner.

She watched for a moment as he collected a variety of ingredients, his expression that of intense focus, and when he shot her a look she retreated to the sofa.

The small clock counting down to the end of their wager sat on the coffee table, mocking her as it entered the final two hours.

Hermione wondered whether the newfound ease between them would vanish with the end of the wager.

Banishing the thought to the back of her mind, she drew a book from her bag to read until he was done cooking.

A little over half an hour later, he planted two plates on the small round table in their kitchenette, eyeing her with caution as he tilted his head towards the meal he'd prepared.

Realistically, Hermione knew he was intelligent, and after seven years of school together she hadn't been able to miss the fact that he typically picked up on new things quickly.

But even so, she was surprised at how far he had come in learning to cook in a week. From the day she had returned to the common room to find him eating a meal of bread and raw vegetables.

Her mouth fell open at the meal before her, a bright array of steak with grilled potatoes and other vegetables, and a fresh looking salad.

"Are you sure you didn't use magic to make this?" she asked, eyeing him sidelong. He could have snuck in a spell or two while she wasn't looking.

"No," he said, slicing a bite from his steak, "but I did find a recipe in the kitchen."

Hermione sheared one of her potatoes with her fork, taking a bite. Swallowing, she exclaimed, "It's delicious! You really have a knack for this."

He gave a flippant shrug, even as a smirk tugged at his lips. "You were right. It isn't that different from potioneering, really. Ingredients, temperatures, and timing. Only this is edible."

"True," she allowed, "but most people can't cook something like this without a lot of practice."

Malfoy only flashed her a grin and dragged a bite from the tines of his fork.

After dinner they sat on the sofa, overfull from a delicious meal, and Hermione's eyes lingered once more on the timer on the coffee table. Only fifteen minutes remained before the wager would end.

Idly, she considered the fact that she ought to have realised Malfoy wouldn't enter a wager if he wasn't confident he could win―but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. In just a week, they'd grown closer than she could have imagined, and she had seen a side to Malfoy she hadn't realised was there.

He sat beside her, his long legs stretched out to rest on the table.

"Told you I was going to win," he said, eyes narrowed on the timer.

"You haven't won yet," Hermione said with a sigh of resignation. "But fine―you've proven you can live without magic." Her lips twitched as she cast him a sidelong glance. "I was looking forward to having you at my command for three days."

His heated stare landed on hers and he quipped, "I didn't know you were the type, Granger."

Warmth lanced through her, but she knew better than to take the words at face value, after the conversation they'd had the night before. While they obviously disagreed about his merits as a person, she wasn't willing to get back into it at the moment.

So she only nudged her elbow his direction; he was close enough on the sofa that her arm ended up resting against his.

"I have to check the patrol schedules, I suppose," she said with a frown. The last thing she needed was for another commitment to take up more of her NEWT study time. "I don't know when your patrols are."

"I made some revisions, remember," he said quietly, his gaze still fixed ahead on the timer, now approaching ten minutes. "I told you yesterday at the meeting."

"I still don't know when _yours_ are," she reminded him. "And if I'm going to be taking over your patrols―"

"They're the same as yours."

Hermione turned towards him, making a face. "Why would you do that? All patrols require two people."

"Yeah." His lips twitched and he glanced her way at last. "I guess you're in the clear."

Her heart leapt to life in her chest as she stared at him, processing the words he wasn't saying. "So I don't need to take over your patrols?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Because you can't patrol with yourself."

Hermione could hardly think over the roaring of her pulse. "You changed the patrols to negate my losing the wager?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't understand why you'd do that."

"Keep up, Granger," he quipped. "I like you a lot better than the Hufflepuff I've been patrolling with." His shoulder pressed against hers as he rolled his face towards her.

His revisions to the schedule made it so that he would forfeit his reward for winning the wager. She couldn't twist the idea to force it to fit everything she knew about him and the hesitations he'd voiced only the night before.

"You don't make any sense, you know," she breathed, watching as his face fell.

"I know," he responded quietly. His gaze flickered back to the timer, which showed only five minutes remaining.

Maybe he hadn't wanted anything from her after all, and he only wanted to prove he could do it. Winning over her would be a source of pride in itself.

Hermione sank into the sofa, feeling comfort in the minor contact between them, and she watched the time tick down. Oddly, she didn't feel as if she were losing anything.

With only two minutes remaining, he exclaimed, "Oh! I just remembered something." He leaned forward to retrieve his book bag from the floor, rummaging inside as he shook his head. "I've been so forgetful."

Then he withdrew his wand, and she gaped at him as he gave it a swish.

"Malfoy, what are you―"

She froze, watching as a book flew his way from one of the tall shelves along the far wall; he eyed her as he presented the runic translation text she had lent him months ago. His lips curled with a smile. "Your book. Thanks for the loan."

"You just..." she breathed, squinting at him. "You just lost."

He released a long exhale, shaking his head. "I guess I did."

Hermione stared at the text for a long moment, a knit forming between her brows. She had barely registered the incident―that day months ago when she had been the only one in their class to help him out. Clenching the text, she looked up at him again, startled to find the irreverence gone from his face.

"It meant a lot to me," he said quietly, "that you were willing to help me out that day. And that you've given me another chance this year."

Her mouth felt dry. Forcing a swallow, she whispered, "You've earned it."

The stormy grey in his eyes seared through her, stripping the layers from her.

"Thanks," she said quietly, setting the book aside. His leg pressed against hers as she shifted. "For returning it."

The timer on the coffee table rang, startling her free of his penetrating gaze.

But he only drawled, "Looks like you won after all. I'm all yours for three days."

Hermione felt raw before him, flayed open as her heart raced in her chest at the gesture. He'd intentionally thrown their wager at the last minute, so _she_ could win, and―

The words broke from her lips before she could stop them.

"What if I want you for longer than three days?"

A hint of a sad smile curled his lips. "Then you're crazier than I ever realised."

She wondered whether he could hear the voracious rhythm of her heart racing in her chest, as they sat pressed against one another. But she asked, "What would you say?"

"I would say," he breathed, ducking his chin, "you've already got me for as long as you want."

As the words played across her skin and settled into her mind, she stared at him for a moment―watched the way his eyes flickered to her mouth―before she leaned in and pressed her lips against his.

After a momentary hesitation he kissed her back, his touch gentle as he took her face in his hands, and Hermione threaded one hand into the fine strands of his hair.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and he deepened the kiss as she parted her lips, the feel of him all-encompassing as she curled her fingers around his tie and dragged him closer.

Malfoy kissed her, assertive yet patient, and her heart pounded at the feel of his touch when he swept a hand down her side, hitching her onto his lap.

They broke apart, heavy breaths chasing from her lips as she stared at him, and idly she released the knot of his tie and threw the silk aside.

His eyes lingered on hers, his throat bobbing with a swallow as she ground down against him.

Biting his bottom lip, he barely stifled a groan as he slipped the buttons of her oxford, pushing the shirt from her shoulders as he held her stare. Desire swelled and coasted through her as she kissed him again, basking in the feel of his hands on her skin as he trailed his fingers along her ribcage, palming her breasts through her bra.

Suddenly Hermione froze, staring at him as she slipped the buttons of his shirt free, one by one. A huff of laughter slipped from her lips. "You aren't just doing this because I won―"

"Hell no," he said with a chuckle. He kissed her again, murmuring against her lips, "You definitely aren't forcing me into anything."

As she settled down on his lap again, she could feel his erection pressing against her, her chest heaving as her own arousal grew, heat coiling below her stomach. She tugged the sleeves of his shirt free between kisses, taking in the alabaster skin of his bare chest, and said, "I've been thinking a lot about your first request."

A slow, wicked grin crept across his face.

Hermione extracted herself from his hold, tugging him to his feet along with her, and coiled her arms around his neck as she kissed him deeply once more. His bare skin against hers was enticing, his hands roving her back as he dragged her vaguely in the direction of their rooms and up the stairs.

She could scarcely catch her breath, but in that moment she realised it was exactly what she wanted.

It had simply taken her the last week to come to terms with it.

Malfoy squeezed her arse as he pulled her into his room, kicking the door shut behind them, and Hermione fumbled for his belt as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her skirt.

He tore away, his breathing heavy as he met her stare. His eyes were darkened with lust.

"You know you don't have to do this," he said lowly, pursing his lips.

"I want to if you do," she breathed, palming his arousal through his trousers. He nodded, his eyes rolling with a groan, and she added, "And please, for the love of Merlin, give yourself some more credit. I want _you_ ―for more than just one night."

A slow, breathtaking grin spread across his face. At last he said, "Okay."

He dragged her skirt down her hips, removing his own trousers, and her skin flared with warmth at his heated perusal.

Hermione tugged him to the bed, kissing him again as they made quick work of the remaining clothes between them. Even fully nude to his gaze, Hermione felt revered by his covetous touch. His fingers slipped between her legs, a sparkle in his eye as her head fell back with a breath.

Pressing his lips to hers, he said, "You don't know how long I've wanted this."

A wry smile tugged at her lips as she curled her fingers around his cock, dragging her hand along the silken shaft, and her smile widened at the huffed string of expletives that slipped from his lips against her skin.

She guided him towards her entrance, a cry breaking from her lips as he thrust into her.

Malfoy's eyes found hers, lips curling into a smirk as he gazed upon her and began to move.

And with each thrust, waves of pleasure swept through her, the feel of his hands and lips on her building beneath her skin as her head fell back against the bed. Dragging her nails along his shoulder blades and arching from the bed, she surrendered herself to the way he made her feel.

She clutched him closer as he thrust into her harder, their pace increasing as she met his movements, and when his thumb grazed her clit Hermione's orgasm crashed over her with a cry of his name. Moments later he stilled, his eyes seeking hers again as he pressed a gentle, sated kiss against her lips.

Then he withdrew, a soft smile on his lips as he settled beside her.

Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair, a light sheen of perspiration on his temples as he blinked at her, trailing his fingers along the curve of her hip as he tugged the sheets over them both.

"I'll take three days to start," she said quietly, "but something tells me that won't be enough."

He gave her a sleepy smile. "You've got yourself a deal, Granger." With one last kiss before he drifted off, he added, "I guess I won after all."


End file.
